That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.

My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.